


Quiet Longing and a Sweatshirt

by Diary



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Background Relationships, Bechdel Test Fail, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Canon Queer Character, Disturbing Themes, Flashbacks, Friendship/Love, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Minor Cyrus Beene/James Novak, Minor Fitzgerald Grant/Olivia Pope, POV Male Character, POV Queer Character, POV Tom Larsen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Tom over the years and how he and Cyrus get together. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Longing and a Sweatshirt

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Scandal.

Cyrus Beene doesn’t trust easily.

It makes Tom wonder how Michael Ambruso managed to slip past his defences so easily.

He wishes he’d paid more attention to James Novak when the man was still alive.

…

He was one of the many assigned to Governor Grant’s detail.

‘Soon, it’ll be President Grant,’ Command had told him.

“Hey, I’m going to go see if Mrs Grant wants me to take the baby out,” Hal said.

He nodded. “I’ve got you covered.”

Hal Rimbeau had decided they were friends, and Tom liked him well enough. He wasn’t much of an agent, but everyone let him pretend he was in order to take advantage of the things he was good at.

While Hal would never in a million years make an inappropriate move on Mrs Grant, everyone could see how much he absolutely adored her. Likewise, the Grant’s toddler daughter, still dubbed ‘the baby’ by Hal, had him trained to do everything but allow her to ride the big horses instead of her own docile pony. Her mother had little patience for her, her father had little time, and her brother was his grandfather’s boy through and through. The other agents were too professional to get caught up in her world, but Hal happily had tea parties with her, allowed her to practise nail painting on him, helped her trap lady bugs, watched her like a hawk when she was on her pony, and listened to her stories about her dolls.

Soon enough, he looked out the window and saw Hal and the baby walking around with Hal carefully carrying the old Chanel purse Mrs Grant had given her daughter when she was renovating her wardrobe and deciding what to keep and what to donate.

The baby mainly used it to carry crayons, some of her smaller books, and unopened packages of juice and apple slices.

Standing straighter, he saw Command and a man walking up the driveway.

The man had an awful beard but a confident stance.

He moved away before either looked up.  

…

“Tom, Hal, come here for a minute,” Governor Grant called.

Hal tensed and shot him a look.

Rolling his eyes, he reached over, put a hand on Hal’s shoulder, and guided him. No one, least of all Governor Grant, was going to get mad at Hal over anything, but while Hal bounced around after the female Grants, he was never quite sure how to act around the governor and the little boy.

Letting go just before they got to the room, Tom walked in. “Sir?”

The bearded man was there, and he had sharp eyes.

“There was a misunderstanding with some of the other agents earlier,” Governor Grant said. “This is Cyrus Beene, and any time he shows up, even if Mrs Grant and I aren’t here, you’re to let him in.”

“Yes, sir,” Hal said. He nodded to Cyrus. “On behalf of the others, I apologise, sir.”

“Understood, sir,” Tom answered.

Cyrus’s eyes glossed over Tom, but he studied Hal intently for a few seconds before starting to dig out of his briefcase. “It’s fine. What’s important is…”

He started talking about polling numbers and a friend he wanted to bring in, and Governor Grant waved them away.

Listening to him talk and almost feeling the energy pouring off him, Tom reflected, if Command hadn’t already decided Governor Grant would soon be president, there’d still be a good chance of it happening with Cyrus Beene at the helm.

…

There was a bomb threat at one of the rallies, and while Mrs Grant was making phone calls and talking in her honey-coated, reasonable voice, Tom and another agent were watching Governor Grant pacing in his study.

Hal had convinced some other agents to take the baby with him to some nearby community pool.

Tom had heard one of them point out she had a whole pond to swim in, and at the same time Hal had said it, Tom had thought, ‘So?’

There weren’t any other children to play in the pond, and even most adults would be able to feel the nervous, irritable tension surrounding the ranch.

The door opened, and Cyrus strode in. “We need the room.”

Catching the other agent’s eye, Tom nodded.

Technically, only Governor Grant could give such an order, but after seeing Cyrus once go off on a reporter in much the same way Command sometimes went off on enemies, Tom had decided, if he could help it, he never wanted Cyrus’s ire directed at him. He liked the man well enough he’d hate to have to kill him, and he valued himself enough he didn’t want Cyrus deciding to actually pay attention to him and potentially see what weak spots to strike.

They left, and she asked, “You got this?”

He nodded, and as she walked away, he pulled the door almost completely shut.

“I know this is a setback-”

“A setback? There are right and wrong ways to make your disagreement known!”

“No one’s arguing-”

“No one here is arguing that,” Governor Grant snapped. “Out there- You know, Andrew actually agrees? Not with the racist crap some are spouting, but with the main point. No one is saying people should be able to buy crack cocaine from a vending machine, but kids, Cyrus, kids are having their lives destroyed because they smoked some weed or even just had some on them. I guess when we couldn’t break them by forcing them to work in the fields anymore we had to find another way.”

“You know, it wasn’t just cotton. Slaves had to grow and pick vegetables and fruits, take care of and slaughter animals, milk cows, all that, and they rarely got any of the good parts of the food they were responsible for producing. Some of these other kids don’t have any choice, or don’t see any other choices, but to risk their freedom and even their lives transporting drugs. Most of them are caught quick, but the sixteen-year-old white kid, the middle-aged cancer patient, the hotshot with a good lawyer, few of them suffer if they’re caught. This is not justice for all, this is not a party issue, this is something that every decent human being should acknowledge is wrong and want to try to fix!”

Tom never voted (every once in a while, Command wouldn’t choose a president, but Tom still felt it was a vote wasted, because, if Command really didn’t like the president the people had chosen, he’d do something about it fairly quickly), but if he did vote, he knew then he’d be voting for Fitzgerald Grant.

…

Tom knew Cyrus was divorced, but he didn’t know why or when exactly it happened.

Sally Langston and Billy Chambers were visiting when he started to get an idea of the first.

Somehow, a basketball game had turned into the governor, Cyrus, and Chambers playing around in the pond while Langston, Mrs Grant, and some other women talked inside the house.

Tom was standing under a tree watching when Billy Chambers stripped his shirt off, and Cyrus- didn’t stare. He looked for maybe a second or two longer than necessarily appropriate, and then, he didn’t completely look at Billy Chambers at all until the governor stripped off his own shirt and more-or-less removed Cyrus’s shirt for him.

For his part, Tom sincerely hoped no one was paying attention to him and wondered if he should start wearing sunglasses like some of the other agents did.

He’d been around well-developed, visibly powerful male bodies all his life and automatically regulated them to part of the scenery, but softer, slightly curved, rounder bodies were pleasant to look at on women and often produced a yearning to touch when it came to men.

…

“Hi, I’m Olivia Pope. What’s your name?”

A beautiful woman with a kind voice and sparkling eyes studying him was Tom’s first real introduction to her.

He’d seen photos and even some videos, but just like her father, nothing but she herself could adequately show all she was.

“Special Agent Tom Larsen, ma’am,” he answered.

She didn’t know her father was a god, but she knew she had divinity running through her veins, he saw.

“Walk with me, Tom,” she told him.

He radioed in and complied.

“Governor Grant is going to be President soon,” she declared.

He decided then, even if there was no Command, Fitzgerald Grant was destined to be POTUS.

“And I’d like to get to know some of the agents who might be moving into the White House with him a little better,” she continued.

“Almost everything’s in my file, ma’am. I’ve wanted this job since I was five years old. If I’m selected, I’ll do my best to always protect him and the First Family.”

She nodded. “Do you have a family of your own, Agent Larsen?”

“Feel free to call me Tom, ma’am,” he answered. “And no, ma’am. I’ve been an orphan all my life, and when it comes to women- you don’t need many words to communicate with your fellow agents, but there’s so many different words and tones and just meanings in general applied to both when it comes to talking to people outside the job, especially in a less-than-causal sense.”

She laughed. “Maybe we can do something about that.” Then, she caught sight of Governor and Mrs Grant. “Excuse me.”

“Ma’am.”

…

At some point, Cyrus got rid of the awful beard.

Tom was glad but also wished he hadn't.

...

Once, he walked in on Cyrus and another man kissing and immediately walked back out.

When Cyrus found him later, he asked, “Which one are you?”

“Tom, sir.”

“About what you saw-”

“I didn’t see any threats or potential threats, sir,” he interrupted. “My job’s to protect the governor, his family, and his staff. If I see a threat, I report it. Or if there’s a physical threat, I intervene. All agents see things that the people we’re protecting don’t want us to, but sometimes, we can’t help it. Some of them might, but I don’t deliberately cause unrest. Whoever you were with earlier and whatever you were doing with them, I’m sure you’re able to assess for yourself if bringing them around might constitute a threat to you or the others.”

Cyrus sagged, and Tom felt a pang of pity.

He understood better than most, better than Cyrus, even, what it meant to always have to hide something. Even when it came to Command, Tom tried to be careful with what he did and didn’t show. Whether Command knew regardless, he didn’t know, but if there was a chance he didn’t…

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes,” Cyrus answered. Reaching over, he squeezed Tom’s shoulder and breathed out, “Thank you.”

When Cyrus was gone, he carefully touched the still warm spot on his shoulder.

…

He wasn’t surprised when he saw Olivia Pope and their president in the Oval Office, but he was worried.

Did Command know? Did Cyrus? Did First Lady Grant?

Of course, the daughter of a god, a demigoddess herself, would effortlessly capture the love of the most powerful man in the world, and she was human enough she just might be able to return his love, but if Command didn’t approve of a mortal touching his daughter- If Cyrus felt betrayed by one or both of his two closest friends- What would happen to Hal if First Lady Grant left?

He erased the footage, made plans to talk to the president in private as soon as he could, and tried not to think about how Cyrus had led the same man he’d once kissed in a darkened room out onto the light-filled dance floor and freely touched him.

At least, Cyrus looked happy, he reflected.

He supposed, if First Lady Grant left, Hal could be transferred to the baby’s boarding school.

Although, she wasn’t really the baby, anymore.

Karen Grant was a scowling, eye-rolling teenager, now, who talked about veganism and how her parents’ aides needed to stop sending care packages with things now objectionable due to this. Her eyes now glossed past Hal, and she made it clear with her dismissive replies she no longer felt comfortable talking to him, but just like with her mother, Hal continued to love her with a quiet, pure devotion.

…

Tom knew he shouldn’t have, but he got himself assigned to the detail covering POTUS at Cyrus’s wedding.

James Novak was a journalist. He was good at his job, and he looked at Cyrus with starry eyes.

Tom didn’t want or need to know anything more.

…

His president and Olivia Pope were in the bedroom, and Cyrus was on the warpath.

Cyrus wasn’t at Command’s level, but he was a kingmaker in his own right. He knew what he wanted America to be, he’d literally killed and metaphorically shed his own blood in pursuit of this, and Tom knew, if he didn’t open the door, Cyrus would do far worse than get him assigned to baby Teddy’s detail.

There are proper procedures to follow if someone declares they’d just been texted about POTUS having a heart attack, but Tom simply stepped aside, opened the door, and hoped none of the nearby agents decided to make a record of what transpired.

…

He didn’t know about the new Command killing James Novak until he heard about Cyrus attacking him.

He wondered if there was a reason Jake Ballard didn’t tell him aside from simply not seeing the need to.

Charlie was a good agent to work with, but he made Tom uncomfortable. Charlie was extremely talented at reading people, and there were times Tom thought he pretended to know less than he did just to justify being able to torture people.

Jake Ballard wasn’t torture-happy, but he sometimes showed signs of being able to quickly intuit the vulnerabilities of people.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t given much of a choice to ignore everything when he finished his shift, walked into the staff parking lot, and saw the busted window on Cyrus’s car, the tire iron lying on ground, and Cyrus sitting on a chock with his head in his hands.

Walking over, he saw there was a legitimate reason for Cyrus to have gotten the tire iron out.

Sending a quick text to Olivia Pope, he put on his gloves, carefully opened the door, and got out all of the glass.

Thankfully, by the time he’d gotten the tire changed and everything put up properly, she arrived and, talking to Cyrus in her softly firm, sweet voice, got him into the passenger seat and buckled up.

“Thank you, Tom,” she told him with sad, red-rimmed eyes.

He nodded, walked away, and waited until he was in his own apartment to take several long, deep breaths.

…

“Kill one of the older Grant children,” Command ordered. “Not Teddy Grant. Just whichever is closer at the rally. Here’s the lab where you’ll get the supplies. A rare strand of bacterial meningitis.”

He thought about Hal.

Hal was still in physical therapy for his wounds and talked about transferring to some junior senator’s detail once he got out. Baby Teddy hadn’t taken to him like Karen Grant had, Karen Grant had made a big deal about only having female agents on her detail, and First Lady Grant had never completely forgiven Hal for his mostly unwitting part in Olivia Pope’s name being leaked.

Tom knew he could never truly have friends, but as much as he could, Hal had been a good one to him. He knew Jerry Grant’s death would hurt Hal terribly, but hearing about the baby’s death, only fourteen and so much like her mother, the little girl he’ll never stop loving- Tom was afraid it might truly break Hal.

Briefly, he felt sorry for young Jerry, who was barely older than his sister, and had so many of the president’s traits within him, but he guessed part of the reason for this order was to ensure a large sympathy vote, and even if Command didn’t want President Grant himself, Tom would privately hope for anyone else but Sally Langston.

President Grant was the best choice for the republic until the next four years came around.   

…

Now, the four years are almost up, Cyrus is determined to instil his own choice for the next POTUS, and Tom really wishes he knew what Ambruso had done.

When he’d come out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel on, Cyrus had laid out his plans, ordered him to get dressed, and had only looked as if he were mildly curious as to why he hadn’t gotten dressed while Ethan was talking.

The first time he’d come back to the room shirtless from a run, Cyrus had briefly scanned him before going on about how Susan Ross actually had a point on some tax issue and the best way to convince Vargas of this.

In some other universe, where Olivia Pope was still Olivia Pope instead of Helen of Troy and he was still Tom rather than the traitor who killed an innocent boy, he’d be tempted to remind her of the conversation they once had and ask if them doing something about his lack of skills outside his job was still an option.

While he has kissed people before, he’s never spontaneously done it and isn’t about to start now. Telling Cyrus- it was hard enough to get Cyrus to trust him enough to get to this point, and he knows Cyrus still doesn’t completely trust him and likely never will.

Sighing, he digs out the old Harvard sweatshirt of Cyrus’s he’d found when he was first sent to the suite, slips it on, and crawls into bed.

…

He wakes at the touch on his shoulder.

Shaking him, Cyrus orders, “Wake up.”

Rolling over and hoping he doesn’t have drool on his face, he finds Cyrus looking at him with a curious expression. “Cyrus? What is it?”

Tom has never understood tax law. Hal did, and he was able to explain it well enough to toddler Karen Grant that she’s now taking advanced math classes, but Tom has a feeling even Hal’s patience and using easily digestible terms and examples wouldn’t have helped him.

Tom’s lack of understanding does not mean Cyrus won’t wake him up at 2:43 in the morning to rant about how Susan Ross is killing them with her championing of some tax reform law.

Leaning against the headboard, Tom lets Cyrus’s voice wash over him, watches him pace the room, and enjoys the warmth and scent surrounding him.

“And it turns out I can’t just ignore it: What are you doing in my sweatshirt? Not that I particularly mind, but are you seriously telling me you have absolutely nothing of your own to sleep in?”

He immediately hopes he just imagined answering and didn’t actually say the first thing to pop into his head.

All his life, there have been very few times he’s ever said anything without carefully considering why and how he’s going to say it.

The truth is, “It still smells vaguely like you.”

Unless he was warm and content and still somewhat sleepy, he would never answer a question with these words, and now, he’s completely awake and trying desperately to figure out if the look on Cyrus’s face means he did or if Cyrus is simply waiting for any of the answers he could give he wouldn’t find himself breaking out into a cold sweat over giving.

“Sorry, sir,” he starts, “I’m not sure-”

Cyrus is striding over, and he tries not to lean into the warm, slightly calloused hand suddenly on his cheek.

Slowly, Cyrus leans forward, and he can see he’s about to be kissed. Cyrus is giving him every opportunity to stop things, and if he weren’t too scared, he’d pull Cyrus closer and initiate the kiss himself.

When it finally happens, he opens to it, tugs and wiggles so he’s fully on the bed with Cyrus on top of him, and some part of him knows he’s fumbling and being greedy and showing his inexperience with his movements, but no matter how overwhelming, he needs as much of Cyrus as he can get, as fast as he can get it.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough when Cyrus pulls away. “Stop.”

He obeys.

Cyrus sits up and moves to the side, but the hand he leaves on Tom’s leg helps some.

“We’re going to talk about some things first.”

Being careful not to dislodge the hand, Tom sits up and nods. “Where should we start?”

 

 


End file.
